A Grim Pact
by Leider Hosen
Summary: Not all hunters are good, some are not even decent. The Old Blood rots and addles all who lust for it too greatly, and even then some lose their humanity less gracefully than others. [Terror Souls]
1. Forward

Hello all, I usually don't make these kinds of "full chapter ANs" but for the sake of immersion, I've segregated my obligatory mumble ramble from the rest of the work cuz immersion.

This is by far the craziest, most batshit insane FanFiction I have ever done. Like, where to begin. First of all, this is technically a parody fiction, so buckle the fuck up and let me tell you a tale of wonder and majesty that was this Fic's origin. I turned 21 on October the 19th of this year (Le gasp, leeking all of my personaly info!), and I got the brilliant idea to snark bad FanFiction with my friends over Discord as a fun Birthday present.

… Well, everybody was busy. Thankfully FishSlayer (who I've been working with a lot lately, awesome person) was bored and had nothing better to do, so we spent four hours reading shitty, shitty FanFiction, TWO, in fact, and both of them were Dark Souls. So why is this a Bloodborne fiction?

Well, the nonsensical bullshit was so stronk, that we started just making shit up as we went along to try and explain just what the hell was going on, and eventually we concluded that the ruinous powers of the Great One's had entered the fics and fucked shit sideways. This in sync with a nonsensical plot, an OP SI piece of shit, and some truly glorious, hilarious typos lead to us basically getting Meta as fuck and creating our own story from all the unholy bits and pieces of nonsense we picked out.

Then, for Terror Souls, I thought, "I got a brilliant idea, let's take this unholy abomination and actually turn it into a full fiction."

So yeah, SEVENTY FUCKING PAGES, all written over the course twelve days, all inspired by a shitty SI smut fiction and typos. It's telling when the story of how the story came to be is a story in itself.

So, I would like to thank the following peeps for their support:

Mason Tims, a great IRL friend of mine who's helped review a lot of my work, and I his.

Guts Pryo, whose Grammar Nazism brought my writing skills to the next level and gave some great insight on how to get my prose sorted.

And Fish, who wasted a perfectly good evening helping me give birth to this thing.

Now, onto the fic proper. I don't usually post trigger warnings, but this is a _graphic horror_ story and not for the faint of heart. It is strongly advised you read this to the tune of some nice horror ambiance with the volume up for immersion, and make sure you have plenty of spare time because his multi-chap is a long one and made to be read in one sitting.

Happy Halloween, Varior Nox.

Bonus Game: Try and guess/count all instances of the word "blood" and all variations thereof. Do not make this a drinking game. YOU WILL DIE IRL.


	2. Act I

" _We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far."_ –H.P. Lovecraft, "The Call of Cthulhu"

* * *

What a miserable night to be alive.

The countryside was a procession of quaking trees, most of them having already lost the majority of their leaves, making them black and skeletal, while the rest of the foliage was shades of bloody crimson and gold, wavering precariously in the wind. Beyond that, the full moon was a disk of sickly, glowing milk on the horizon, the icy bay shimmering in its wake.

The sleet beat Liam's face as he trudged through puddles of chilled water and mud, soaking wet beneath his hunter's attire. His entire body was racked with a deathly chill as the rain came down, blowing into his face in the autumn wind, his hat missing, leaving only his laced up, frayed leather hunter's high collar to protect him. His hunter's garb was useless against the sporadic downpour from various clouds hanging overhead, the heavy leathers filled with burns, bullet holes, and rips.

Not far behind him, he could hear the hunting party crashing through the underbrush, ripping through the foliage with their giant Kirkhammers and "Holy" Swords, mockeries of the one the great Ludwig once carried. They were accompanied by the feral roars and barks of dogs, springing through the bushes while the black-clad hands of the Church drove them forward as they strained against their leashes. The light of their lanterns occasionally hit Liam's back, making his shadow dance for them as the yellow rays broke through the moonlight and fractured the rain.

The Hunter was keeping ahead of them, high on his usual cocktail of enhanced blood, adrenaline, stabilizers, stimulants, and painkillers. A drop of his blood could burst the heart of the heartiest dock worker, but he was wearing out. He was down to his last vial, his skin was cold and wet, and the constant run was sapping his stamina. Hunters were nearly superhuman, but even they had limits.

It didn't help the party behind him numbered over a dozen men, and after the first engagement he realized they were vicious bastards, even for the Healing Church's elite minions. They were Laurence's finest; adept, merciless, and addled with blood so strong it was practically acid to a normal human. He bloodied them, but they overpowered him fairly effortlessly and now he was running himself to death in the rain, on an icy beach in the middle of nowhere. Nearing the end of his rope.

It was supposed to be an easy job, a proposal from a bunch of aristocrats in bright dresses, the reek of top-shelf blood on their lips and the purses at their side overflowing with golden coins. Yharnum's elite.

A simple situation; A cargo ship, bloated with Old Blood, never came to shore in the harbor. Since a few nights before, the autumn winds were howling with freezing rain, making any travel perilous, and the coast around that area was jagged and shallow. It wasn't hard to imagine the hardened frigate veering off course in the currents and dashing on the rocks, like a bundle of sticks cracking under a boot.

All that blood and gold for the taking, and he would have a favorable share. All Liam had to do was get there before the other hunters, or whoever owned that ship.

He was on open coastline now, ascending an inclined plateau, riddled with pitfalls, tiny dunes, and sawgrass up to his waist. A blackened lighthouse cast its blind gaze around the bay from its perch at the top of the cliff, the light snuffed out. Whatever was on that boat, the Church wanted it bad. If the keeper wasn't dead, he was far, far away.

Liam considered hiding in the vacant lighthouse, but put it out of his mind. That's the first place they'd look. They had dogs so even if he wasn't spotted by the Hunters, their companions would sniff him out him and he'd be completely trapped.

He was running out of options as his pursuers came closer and closer. Liam's surefooted jogging was soon reduced to a heavy, stumbling gait, until his toes drug through the sand with each step.

He didn't give pot of piss about honor or glory. A hunter was just another killer, by a different name- though he wasn't shy about collecting well-due rewards from the townspeople he saved from the beasts that skulked around. It was good to take their wives, daughters, and blood, only for them to bow down and worship him for it. "Savior!" "Savior!" they called him as he passed. Many reviled him, spat in his direction, and despised him as a tainted outsider. When he took his dues, they called him a devil and a coward. Others got physical, and they discovered the great, jagged Saw Cleaver laden with clods of blood and bone chips wasn't at his side for show.

Yeah, savior indeed. The only one he was concerned about saving was himself. From being weak, from being just another dopey-eyed layman toiling for a greedy merchant somewhere. When he was near fatally injured in that mill, it wasn't the union or the boss who gave him his arm back. The life of a hunter was certainly more satisfying than the toil of fetching crates and milling steel, and he would take care of himself, rather than being thrown to the streets to beg and starve. He wasn't dying on this stretch of wasteland tonight.

At any moment, his vanishing cover would be gone and they'd run him down, so he ran to the edge of the cliff, peeked over, and saw an outcropping. Without hesitation, he leapt off the side, landing hard on an eroded floor of rock, and it took strong resistance to keep his trembling hand away from his final vial.

He slumped against the cliffside, more tired than he realized as his pouring blood washed away with the rain. He suddenly felt suffocated by his mask, and tore it away. Liam panted, the humid air caressing his mouth and tongue while his sweat froze as fast as he could make it. He looked down the thirty meter drop to the roiling sea and jagged rocks, foam spraying from the maw of the rabid sea.

He'd found a good place to catch his breath, but he knew this was the end of the road. Hopefully they would pass him by, their roaring voices growing overhead as they coordinated the search over the sandy hills. He would have to climb his way out later and get far, far away from that accursed beach before even more reinforcements came.

Otherwise, he was going to pop his last vial. He would either die of hypothermia, get torn apart by the hunters when they found him, or take his chances and plunge into the sea below. The last option had merit. He'd been ripped open so bad on some of his past hunts, if he took a drink of water it would spring out the hole in his chest, and he still came back from it. The more likely outcome, however, was his skeleton would turn to splinters, he'd sink below, drown, and be fodder for the fairytale beings he'd heard so much about.

Directly overhead, he heard two voices:

"Sir, he appears to have gone missing."

"Missing?" The other boomed, no doubt the half-giant that towered nine feet high, whom Liam saw earlier. "No. He's nearby. We were right on his heels, I could practically smell the reek of blood. He will not get away."

There was a pause, before the smaller voice responded, "Perhaps we should break pursuit? Focus on-"

"We will focus on the relic when that hunter is dead."

"But Sir-"

Liam flinched as the hunter's speech was cut short, calling out in surprise. He could practically hear the inhuman brute spitting as he boomed, "I'm the Captain, and the Captain says we're going to find that skittering rat and kill 'em!" his ragged breath filled with bloodlust and urgency, "That relic… only once in a lifetime can the Choir have the power and resources to build such a thing. It is the fruit of a rare communion. If there is even a slight, slight odd that the hunter will find it before us, the Choir will mount our heads on a _spit!_ " The giant vomited the last word, splashing it in the face of the smaller hunter, "so grab the relic, or kill him! Do it!" There was a splash, the smaller hunter being thrown in the mud, and frantically crawling away.

"Yes sir!" For the Good Blood!" _The Good Blood_ , the rest the hunters nearby echoed, searching fervently for the trespasser.

Liam shook his head.

So, that's what all this was about. The wild chase, the fervor, and the absolute, unrelenting hunt… for a bunch of magic blood rocks?

Some days, he regretted coming to Yharnum. The Blood was great, but the stinking town was a nest of degenerates and lunatics.

his blood ran cold as he listened against the wind and the sleet, hoping that he was wrong as he picked up on something nearing his hiding place. A dog snuffling up the side of the dunes, getting nearer and nearer. Liam looked straight up, squinting through the rain, at the wall that made up one side, and the grey, brooding clouds lit by the moon.

The head of a dog, with a scraggly coat and a maw coated with blood, appeared over the edge, it's eyes glinting yellow as they locked onto him a moment. The hound went rigid, jumping straight up as a few more joined him, the bunch unleashing great barks and howls from their foaming jaws. Liam's face was hit by stray clods of dirt and pebbles as the dogs nearly threw themselves down at him, their paws digging at the edge of the cliff.

Within moments, their masters called to each other, and soon he saw the black hunters peering down on him. Moments later, the bullets were flying, Liam feeling the sting of pistol shots tearing into his arm, the black powder leaving an acrid scent as the bloodied bullets pelted him.

In a split-second decision, he jumped off the outcrop, plunging towards the sea, his arms flailing wildly as the toothy shore expanded in his vision. He somehow righted himself, keeping his body straight, so when he struck, rather than being pasted on the rocks, his legs shattered on the impact, and he went tumbling down.

The black sea yawned, until it enveloped his vision, the chill swallowing his every sense as he plunged into the depths. His lungs burned, salty water rushing into his stomach in a torrent. He lost his sense of direction instantly, getting tossed against the rocks and breaking his back, before being pulled every which way by the raging current, bubbles of precious air pouring from his mouth. He would've vomited if his throat wasn't full of sea water.

Through all of that, on pure animal instinct, he went rigid, reached to his side, and grabbed his vial. He pulled it from the holster and rammed it into his thigh. The prongs, activated by shock, sprung forth and drove into his leg, the hollow tubes flooding with blood and ejecting it violently into his muscles through their various pores.

The Blood recalled his first transfusion, his eyes springing wide open. Liam' severely broken legs snapped into position, creaking as they fused together. The bullets were buried by fresh muscles as the coils unspooled and wove together. His entire body surged with energy, the pain going from nearly impossible to bear to a faint annoyance as his eyes dilated. To his newly refreshed senses the turbulence of the sea seemed to slow to a crawl, the hunter righting himself and surging through the dark seas.

He worked himself around tall spires beneath the water, nearly raking himself on the stone shelves rising beneath him as he dove down, the deeper currents undisturbed by the turmoil above. After a considerable distance, pushing through wiry algae and treacherous riptides, the stone turned to sand, the water shallowing as Liam came to another stretch of beach. He erupted into a cove below the rise, salty water cascading off his back as he tried to stand. He immediately vomited, coughing several times before lurching forward, spasming as his lungs tried to expel their contents, flecks of algae and seawater spurting from him as he tried to catch his breath.

Wrent by the cold and surging with energy, Liam rocked on his heels and kept his shivering arms close to him, his head ringing from the drop and oxygen starvation. His hand went to his pistol, opening the chamber and dumping a mix of water, blood, and quicksilver from the ruined interior. Unwilling to test the flooded pistol, lest it backfire, his hesitantly discarded it. Likewise, he lay down his Saw Cleaver. It was dead weight at this point anyway, since he was running out of stamina and the brief boost of vigor he gained from the Blood would not last long. He couldn't fight, so anything to help him get out faster was his priority.

Before he could pick a direction to run in, he beheld the husk of a ship, the moonlight resting on its sopping skeleton. It lay on its side, the stomach burst open, pieces of hull scattered around alongside nets, tools, and crates. Bloated corpses were strewn over the sands alongside woodchips and twisted metal, unable to withstand the merciless seas, while the windless sails lay uselessly on the rocks.

The sight sent chills up Liam's spine… alongside something else. He couldn't place it, but he felt like he wasn't alone in there... like something was leeching into his thoughts. The shadows felt deeper, like portals to another world…

He shook his head. _Nonsense_.

He'd born witness to the superstitious mania that came with the hunt. The lust for blood. The mysterious properties of the plague, and all the old wives tales about wrapping belts around your leg to slow the beastly transformation.

No-one was immune to going a little mad in Yharnum. The hunger. For blood, for the rush of endorphins ripping and tearing into the beasts, for indulging in his baser instincts. Some nights, in his dreams, he felt as though he were beckoned to other worlds, unsure where the world ended and the dream began.

But all that paled in comparison to the Church's fixation on the beings they called the Kin. As much as Yharnum depended on them it was no secret the citizens were terrified of contracting the plague, or showing sedition, lest they vanish like so many others. And for what? To make fever dreams reality? To gain the favor of fairytales and aliens?

And yet, he was strangely compelled forward, his boots squeaking as they drug through the frigid sands, drawing him towards the wreckage, the ebbing and flowing tide echoing off the walls of the cavern.

 _Since he was here anyway, and since the Church Hunters were a step behind him, there was no reason not to see what all the fuss was about._

His boots worked over the timbers, kicking aside stray scraps and stomping over the prone corpses.

 _I'll just take a look, and see if anything remains of the cargo,_

He was now on a sizable chunk of the deck, walking up a forty degree incline, stepping carefully over the mainsail and towards the shady captain's quarters, the door broken from the hinges.

 _I'll grab anything worth taking, then escape into the night._

He walked through the threshold, beholding the nerve center of the vessel. Paintings were reduced to splinters and wet paper. Baubles and ornaments, depicting all their little deities, were now indiscernible scraps of glass that crackled under Liam's feet. There were Blood Vials, but they were all shattered and their contents diluted by the sea.

Several corpses were piled against the front wall, the power of gravity and the ship's angle throwing them around. Some had the bleached, bloated look of drowning, but nearly all had signs of violence upon them. Crushed skulls and skeletons from Kirkhammer, deep gashes from the Holy Blades, the giant holes of men ripping eachother's organs out in a bloody rage. A peppering of charred bullet holes, the chains of Threaded Canes buried in the flesh like worms in dirt.

He walked over them, going towards the back. The windows were blown out, letting wind rush through the ruined cabin. A priest in especially lavish garb appeared to be the captain, his silly blindfolded hat torn nearly in half and priestly robes marred. His desk was overturned, sitting on top of him along with most of his other possessions, the things falling against him when the ship came down.

Liam easily threw the heavy oak to the side, exposing a chest resting beneath, alongside its protector. The dead man was grasping a parasite, now stone dead; a weapon used by especially gifted clergy. One that wasn't used lightly.

The scene played out in his head:

The ship was coming apart under the punishing waves, and crashing on the rocky shore. His crew barged in, looking to use the cargo to save themselves, but the captain's dogma commanded that no-one open the case. The loyalists and mutineers killed each other off, and the wounded survivors drowned to death.

Liam lifted the box, the metal frame beneath his fingertips prickling his nerves as though it was blazing hot to the touch, yet the metal was cool to the touch from resting in the breeze. How fitting the crew would be devoured by the very deep they so fervently sought after. And all over this tiny wooden box, barely a chest, just big enough to fill both Liam's arms but far too small to contain anything like a trick weapon or blood rock.

Liam, curiosity overflowing, attempted to pry the case open, but it was stubborn for such a little thing. He didn't want to smash it open, at the peril of damaging its contents, and he didn't want to wait, since it could possess something to assist him.

He settled for searching the priest roughly, the former man of the Choir convulsing as he was worked over by Liam's free hand, while the other cradled the case. Liam found what he was looking for, a thick iron key, and placed the box flat on the ground.

With a turn of the key, the case opened, Liam on his knees as lifted the lid. The case was clogged with sopping wool, the Hunter pulling the white spools out by the fistful, and feeling a heavy weight pulling them down.

He gave a final tug, unearthing a pair of gloves nestled beneath the padding. He was about to dismiss them, but after a moment's glance he understood they were no ordinary fabric.

They were leather, though calling them "leather" was hardly the long of it. It was no hide he'd seen before; rough, milky white flesh faded to a grey blue, with heavy stitches pulling the rough patches together. The gloves had three rings of carved blood rock around the forearm, with hollow tubes and metal coils between them, the decaying blood and its energy recycled through them.

Liam's mouth was watering gazing upon the marvel. The blood rock alone was worth his weight in gold to a smith. He had no idea what the contraption did as a whole, but he assumed it had something to do with rituals and Kin, which gave it a value near priceless, and he could _feel_ the Blood Echoes roaring through them.

It was vain hoping to barter it to the Healing Church, but he could surely find a buyer, which left only one thing to do.

He pulled the first one, the left hand one, from the case, and slid it on. He thought it was too large, but the fabric made a sickening squelching sound as it shrunk, until it hugged his arm snugly, the brass fittings on the fingers and rocks settling in. He knew it would be moist, but even still the interior of the gloves felt like living flesh, pulsating and drooling on his hand while he felt the heat of the charged blood echoes warming his arm.

Liam found it pleasurable to wear, but faster than he could think an immense dread drowned out his thoughts. His head started to hurt, slightly at first but after a moment he felt the arteries in his skull pressing out, his mind assaulted by something akin to concentrated dread, as though he remembered a terrible thing, only these thoughts did not belong to him.

He looked down at the other glove, blinking through a cold sweat, and felt a compulsion so overwhelming that within the blink of his icy eyes, he had the second glove on, the panic subsiding.

When he touched the tips of the two gloves together, he felt a charge run through his entire body, as though the two yearned to be close to one another and granted him intense euphoria to unite them. He was starting to doubt his choice to don them, as he couldn't shake the feeling they were no simple objects.

He shook his head, again trying to rationalize it.

He was a hunter born to a more enlightened time… right?

He examined his new wares a little more closely, and went to checking his palms. They were covered with runes, something he recognized from the Hunter's Dream his mind sometimes wandered to. He did not dream often, but he'd seen the effects of the bloodless arts on some of his compatriots. These were different though.

They writhed and seethed, they devoured echoes, and as he stared into them, the burning suddenly took his entire body. He felt his mind coming unraveled, old memories, new memories, and dreams all bleeding together, the otherness of the force he was beholding tormenting him.

It was the strain of trying to understand something unlearned, but magnified, again and again, until Liam was grasping his head, and trying without success to suppress the overflowing insight that was becoming nothing but a garble of white noise.

No… black noise. Deep. Like water. Liam heard a sticky sound in his head, so loud he could feel it reverberating in his skull, and felt the water welling up from beneath him. Though his eyes were closed he saw waking dreams and felt his body go numb, his mind breaking free from its vessel and being pulled into a swarm of churning, half-formed nightmares.

Somewhere on the other side, he felt two fair maidens grasping him on each side, his arms pushing through their flesh and into their murky insides. Without seeing them he saw forms that were so far removed from human, mortal words could not give them shape, his mind trying to turn their otherness into a form he could comprehend, and straining painfully with the effort to do so. They flickered between an insane sludge of flesh and blood to a pair of pale, identical tadpoles, youthful yet ancient.

Their eyes were black and contained infinity, their lips uttered words that could make the most firm mind crumble into raging lunacy, and their anatomy abided by no laws of biology, possessed of wings and tails and eyes, only the vaguest and most primal parts of their physique marking them as female.

He lost dominance over his mind, pulled forward, and made to see…

The nightmares were too weak to take full form, and instead came to him as the briefest flickers of truth.

He saw a nightmare of Lumenwood and phantoms, of spongy mountains and frothy air. The vale collapsed, as an inky blackness forced its way through the seams. This Dark took the form of another Nightmare, one of vastness and terror that caused the young kin to quake.

They fled, and fell into the whispers of another world, drawn to a commune of their kind while the Nightmare behind them collapsed into nothingness with the violence of a collapsing star.

They fell to earth, before a group of flickering human figures.

They were strapped down with slabs of flesh and reeds of metal, the noise around them disorienting as the primitive things around them chittered back and forth, hiding beneath blindfolds and oozing fatigues to shield themselves from the blood spattering upon them.

The sisters could not be saved, and one watched the other watching the one next to her watching her…

...flayed open and pulled apart, the echoes of their thoughts trapped in a jar of glowing runes like fireflies. They were sealed in a vessel of their own blood, yearning to touch and feel, and to contrive a world without sense or logic to flutter within, but they were thoughts without brain and stillness without body.

The twin hearts, exhausted, drifted to the infinite beyond save for the tiniest echoes, leaving Liam alone in the Nightmare once more.


	3. Act II

Liam snapped awake. Errant streams of water dripped down on his face, a puddle forming around his prone body as he tried to figure how long he'd been asleep.

Everything hurt, it was like he'd been on the wrong end of a Scourge Beast.

The Hunter groaned as he sat up, his lungs out of breath and limbs crackling like the husk of the ship beneath him. He staggered to his feet, falling to the side and retching on the floorboards as intense vertigo paralyzed him.

He wasn't sure if what he saw was truly a vision, or if he fell unconscious and the images were a product of his own imagination, but either way his mind felt drained. Taking several deep breaths, he looked to his arms, seeing the eldritch gauntlets were still there. At least his prize was real.

He placed a warm palm on his knee, pushing himself upright and finding his balance after a moment. Despite his state, the icy cold of the bay seemed fainter, and his heart found a stronger beat in his chest. Liam didn't know much about Blood Ministration, for a man who relied on it so heavily, but he knew the well of echoes now affixed to either arm was feeding him power. That was enough for him.

He heard voices echoing not far from him, and peered out the broken windows of the captain's quarters. The silhouettes of multiple Church Hunters bearing lanterns were emerging into the gloomy cove beneath the lighthouse, the moonlight falling on their backs as they shouted through the fading curtain of rain for the rest of their troupe.

Liam didn't know if his gauntlets were fair maidens or not, nor did he know if he could slip away before the Church hunters saw him. But he knew he had greater power than he could imagine at his fingertips and he wasn't giving it up for anyone.

He regarded the pile of weapons near him a moment and shook his head. Legends like Old man Gehrman, Maria Cainhurst, Ludwig the Holy Blade, and the Crow of Cainhurst could probably fight six hunters at a time and win, but as much as Liam hated to admit it he'd be slaughtered if he tried that himself.

None of his prospects were especially good, but facing the troupe was suicidal.

Liam shattered a window on the left side of the cabin, vaulting the windowsill and crouching down in the sands. He could faintly hear the other hunters remark on the noise, quickening their pace while Liam kept low and skirted around the hull and out of sight.

The soft crunch of their leather boots on the sand was replaced by boots meeting wet wood. Their footsteps ambled as everyone picked a different nook to inspect, including some right above his head. Liam realized that if someone looked over the side, they would see him.

Likewise, if they just looked inside the cabin, they would see the pillaged box, and know he was there for certain.

The boards above him creaked as a hunter inched even closer, leaning on the banister.

"Hey!"

Liam jumped, but he managed to restrain himself from crying out as the Church Hunter overhead turned towards the minister in the distance who called him. He started creeping away from Liam as the minister called a second time.

"The cargo hold's over here, or at least what's left of it."

"Do you think they would keep the relic under the floor like common Blood?"

"I don't know. But we can comb over the rest in a moment."

"Alright, Percy," He directed his voice down the hull, "I'll go help them. Search the deck here, see if anything survived the crash."

"I'll do my best, but I'll be rifling through splinters at this point."

"Just do it."

The hunters broke up and several footsteps retreated across the beach. Above, a hunter with a Threaded Cane hiked up his collar, bracing against the cold and half-heartedly wandering down the deck.

"Why does it have to be so bloody cold in 'ere." He grumbled to himself, flipping bodies over and looting their parasites and talismans. All the while, Liam stayed low and used the shadows of the rocks to cover his retreat. He remained vigilant of the prowling forms around him as he crept on his toes so the sands muffled his footfalls, while taking long strides to cover more distance.

Hunters didn't usually rely on stealth, but Liam managed to make it to the back wall, concealing himself with the dark, hugging the eroded rocks and moving around the long way. Fortune was on his side, as a few clouds hid the moon as he reached the edge of the cove, so the blackness obscured him enough to leave undetected. Before long, he was in the open air, working his way down the beach.

He kept his eyes to the cliffs, and cursed when he saw several grim figures, dogs in tow, working their way down the rocks. He couldn't go back the way he came, and if he kept going forward he would run right into them. He looked at the barren beach before him and violent seas to his side, finding only one place to hide.

Hesitantly, and with the utmost care not to alert the party descending on him, he waded into the water. The stormy seas nearly knocked him from his feet multiple times, the unforgiving waves throwing him back and forth. Strangely, as the gloves touched the water, he was filled with warmth and the waves didn't bother him as much, Liam finding his footing. He crouched and moved laterally across waves with only his head above the water to minimize his profile.

He covered his mouth, breathing through his nose while several waves crashed over the back of his neck, the immersion in the icy waters quickly numbing his skin. The party came into full view, walking down the beach in relative silence as Liam propelled himself to the side, slow and careful.

The hounds raised a fuss, sniffing at the shore and air, only to whine and stare expectantly at their hunter masters, who pulled them forward impatiently. Behind the smaller hunters, the behemoth of a man slowed to a stop, raising his head and slowly looking around. The ones in front of him stopped when they felt him fall back after a moment, and he turned towards the sea.

Liam froze as the giant's eyes lingered on the surface right by him. One shadow. One sound. That was all he needed now as the face beneath his broad-brimmed hat gazed intently at the water.

Could he feel them? Liam's gauntlets? The other hunters didn't seem to notice, but this one was locked right on them. He didn't raise the alarm, so Liam assumed he was unable to tell his dark attire from the black seas, but Liam couldn't shake the feeling the giant man knew he was there.

The hunter couldn't read his expression at that distance, especially since the Church Giants possessed a stony, warped face anyway. They could easily grow five meters in height so this one was still in the early stages of his transformation. But he still possessed the features and complexion of a zombie, his skin sickly pale and cracked, his eyes like black marbles. The characteristic hunch in his back was already forming, the spine and limbs twisting and elongating with the effort to support his uncontrolled growth.

"Master Rodger?" One of the priests called, "does something trouble you?"

The giant was silent for a few moments, before he turned away and ambled quietly,

"Only the call of the sea." He spoke, "You'll hear it too, sooner or later." The other hunters fell in behind Rodger as they continued to the cove.

Liam let out the breath he'd been holding since the beast rested his eyes on him. He was used to fighting things larger than himself, but that man frightened him terribly. If fortune was kind, they would never encounter each other again.

He pulled himself from the sea when he was sure they left, this time setting his pace to a brisk, northward jog. He remained focused on the beach and put the thoughts of the ship and the hunters behind him. For now, he was safe. It could potentially take hours for the Church to catch up with him. Maybe it would take hours for them to even realize the relic was missing. If he were optimistic about it, he would guess they would travel inland rather than following the sea.

In that time, he could find a place to settle down and catch up on his sleep, after which he would move even further out. Considering the ultimate fate of his prize, he felt a strange attachment to the gloves on his arms, their warming aura refreshing him on his trip. The intimacy he felt with them, and the echoes soothing his blood, it was rather rapturous… no, he knew they were more trouble than they were worth. The Choir was already desperate to find them, and upon spotting the obvious burglary the bounties would pile on his head.

The Healing Church was an institution of science _and_ the foundation of Yharnum's religion and politics, so long as he remained in this region, it was only a matter of time before they found the girls… but he could protect them.

Liam snapped upright, his foot dipping into the rushing tide, the hunter heading a little further inland. He needed to get to sleep and refresh himself before he got too sloppy.

By the time he reached civilization, the rain finally stopped. The prevailing winds were now mercifully warm and dry, but the shift in climate soon had a great wall of fog drifting over the seas and countryside. The moonlight set the curtains of mist alight and the fog bell tolled the presence of a harbor, along with sharp, alternating whistles from the piers.

Liam felt a sigh of relief when the beach became a boardwalk, the whale oil lanterns burning brightly on the numerous storefronts, a few sailors comfortable enough to smoke and drink blood beneath the awnings of their small, sleepy town. Blacksmith forges lay dormant and cold. While the slaughterhouse was filled with whale bones and the reek of rotting blubber, every bloody tool was sitting idle.

With the weather lately, the grunts were no doubt enjoying the down-time as the shipping lanes ground a halt, which gave Liam ample breathing room. Afterall, who would go out of their way to bother him and waste a rare chance to shrug off their work?

He found the inn was still lit, opening the door and stepping through the threshold, taking a gust of hot air to the face as he pulled the door closed behind him.

He soon found every eye upon him, the grizzly sailors setting their playing cards by their blood cocktails, the accordions and drunken hymns going silent, and the innkeeper going still. The keeper was a tall man, a little shorter than Liam with great shoulders, a wool cap, and a thick, wild beard that was black as coal. The counter creaked as he placed his palms flat on the polished surface, his eyes meeting Liam's.

"Evenin'." He said, his breath thick with blood, "It looks like we got ourselves a hunter here, tonight." He noted, Liam becoming self-conscious of his raggedy, weathered look, and standing straight.

"I am, in fact."

"My, my, my. You look dreadful. Came upon a nasty beast in the night?"

"You could say that."

"Oh, I'm sure." He spoke, lifting a glass of cheap whisky and taking a swig, putting it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his furry hand. "I take it ya didn't read the door?"

"The door?"

"We don't serve hunters here. Especially tonight." He said, his tone getting on Liam's nerves, "Don't ya know? It's All Hallows Eve, when the dead are the most anxious to get out and prowl, and it's a full moon tonight. Nothin' but foul deeds and fouler things come skulking out of the woods at a time like this." He walked away from the desk, grabbing a glass, sipping it, and turning back around, "You're still 'ere? I told ya', piss off. Hunter's are only good for killin'. So go out and kill some beasts, but I won't have you getting blood all over my store."

"I'm tired, and I'm wet." Liam growled, "I'm the one keeping you from getting overrun by the scourge, you should treat me as such."

"My hero." He replied, "I've seen plenty of beasts. We all have. And never did I feel like you dancing monkeys with your guns and your knives make us the safer for spilling their blood everywhere. I don't owe you a thing. This is my house, and I'll throw anyone I want out'a it. If you have a problem, take it up with ma' boys." Liam heard a crack, several gentleman with paddles, knives, and even a blunderbuss rising from their seats, the innkeeper continuing. "We're honest folk 'ere. You can haunt the doorstep to keep the rain off ye', as long as you don't scare away any of my customers."

"Who do you think you are?"

"Who am I? I'm the master of this bloody establishment, that's who I am. And who are you? Looks to me me like you're a glorified vagrant, what with your…" He trailed off, Liam realizing his eyes were on the fair maidens, "Actually, stay still long enough to tell me what those are." He said, tilting his bottle towards them.

Liam was quiet a minute, "Nothing."

"I've seen a lot in my day and that doesn't bastarding look like nothin' to me."

"I found them."

"You found 'em? Just layin' around on the beach?"

"Yes. They must have washed ashore, because they were in a crate. I was hunting some beasts, and I chanced upon it half buried by sand, I guess the tide came in."

"The tide?" his eyebrows crinkling as he pondered aloud, "we've got lots of sailors here who know a thing or two about how dangerous these waters can get. There's a little cove not that far from here, beneath the old lighthouse. We call it 'Borrower's Cove', because with the way the waters are, things just seem to appear there, all these little bits and pieces of the things that go missing, on nights like this." He said, Liam's heart racing in his chest, "A little while ago, we got a note that said some cargo got lost near here, and to keep an eye out for anything funny. We get those time to time, merchants looking to find their lost goods, but this note was a little odd, ya' see. It was stamped with the sign of the Healing Church. They didn't say what it was or what it looked like, just that it was funny lookin'. Now, ya' didn't answer my question," He said, leaning in, "Where did ya' find those things?"

"Do they look funny to you?" Liam growled. The room was silent exempting the crackle of the fireplace for several moments.

"No, but they do look bloody ugly." One chimed in, the sailors letting up a tense laugh, joined by the innkeeper, who changed his tone as he placed a hand on the counter again,

"Alright, look 'ere." He said, "How about we compromise?"

"Compromise, with you?"

"Yeah, parlay and all that. I've got a slip of paper 'ere that says there's a boat that's gunna be full of Healing Church ministers coming in on the 'morrow. There's a handsome reward to anyone that helps 'em find whatever it is they lost, real handsome. Three barrels of blood. Sacramental blood, from Yharnum, and a favorable relationship with the vicars." He pointed to Liam's gauntlets, "you give us those, and you can have a room for a night, a week if you fancy it, and a cut of everything the good Church decides to give our little village. Come on? What else are you 'gunna do with 'em?"

Liam gave it serious thought a moment, and nodded, "I can't say if these belong to the Church or not, but I suppose I could stay and get it all sorted out."

"Wonderful, yeah?" The innkeeper said, going under the desk and grabbing a key. He reached over the counter and dropped it gingerly into Liam's hand. "Top step, first room ya' hit."

"Thank you for your cooperation." Liam said, walking away. He felt the eyes of everyone else on him a moment, before they went back to relaxing, the warm hall filling with mirth and music once more. Liam went to the top of the staircase in front of him, turning towards the first door on his immediate right. He could barely contain his laughter as he let himself in and shambled to the bed, stripping off his sopping wet leathers as he walked. The fools really believed he would stay for them? Let them take away even one scrap of what was rightfully his?

He would have to sleep lightly, but after catching a brief nap, he was going to let himself out of this stinking hole. They could deal with the Church on their own after that, but he was going to find a good place to settle down, find some weapons, and get back to hunting. He could see it now, with his limitless Echoes, he would fast become one of the strongest of all hunters, and nothing could take that away from him. Soon enough, he wouldn't even have to worry about the Church.

He hit the bed, rolling onto his back. He was tempted to take the girls off… gloves, the gloves off. Liam was having trouble seeing them as anything less than what they were... made it hard to lose their company… he almost immediately fell asleep... filled with warmth.

He dreamt like he did the first time he passed out, only these fancies were far greater. It resembled the floor of an ocean with all the water drained from it, though the tall grasses and corals of bone remained behind. The narrow walking path wove between these formations and bleached trees... the flanks standing as high as mountains. Creatures strange and wondrous drifted around aimlessly, the milky air so thick it was like walking through soapy foam which levitating invertebrates slithered through.

The sky was overcast with clouds of sulphur and dust partially blocking a colossal star's rays, the heat causing the oceans of gas teeming with strange insects and algae to fume. His frail human form would've been destroyed in an instant by the acidity of the landscape, long after his fragile mind ate itself out with dementia trying to define his surroundings.

He felt an intense yearning to return here… though he had never arrived, this will that nearly superimposed his own a keystone of the entire plane. A keystone that yearned to rebuild it.

As great as the sense of loss was, something whispering through the back of his mind told him that though the Nightmare came undone, another Nightmare could be dreamt into being to replace it. That was the nature of Great Ones, the Kin of the Cosmos. Their dreams were so powerful they became entire realities, able to outlive entire universes swirling in their fantasies.

Even death was just a gateway to another plane, only in having their Echoes of consciousness consumed could one of their magnitude be truly destroyed, but not really destroyed, simply transferred…

The hunter snapped awake, his heart and mind racing. He found himself believing the metal and blood adorning his arms were the Kin that he once dismissed. That these dreams, dreams so real he could reach out and touch them, were not figments of his imagination but realities so surreal they only appeared as such.

Maybe he was going mad. Maybe he was finally giving into the scourge. Or, just maybe he'd found a new purpose, one grander than he ever imagined for himself. These sister Great Ones had died, but not completely. They had pledged their allegiance to him, lending insight and power, and thanks to his dreams he knew why.

They desired exodus from the world Liam occupied, but they were too weak to dream up a Nightmare in which they were alive and able to commune freely. They needed Blood Echoes, the one true currency of life, and with the cosmos at their behest, it would not take many. Still, they could gain no Echoes if they had no body, therefore Liam would do it for them.

And when the Nightmare came, he would stand at the head of it, and have the power of a god at his fingertips.

He stood up from the bed and walked over to the window to gaze out at the foggy sea. The water was finally beginning to settle as the storm passed over for awhile, the full moon high on the horizon. For some reason, gazing at the moon made Liam terribly anxious, and he could not shake the feeling the moon was watching him back.

His eyes went to the docks outside where the people continued to enjoy the still evening, the storm finally passing over. A bit of movement caught his eye, and he saw the innkeeper standing alongside a few of his patrons, the group greeting a second band.

A band that was all too familiar.

The Church Hunters were lead by yet another patron and the hunters meeting up with the villagers. The dour Rodger stood high over the keeper, who gestured to his business and talked for a moment, before the giant patted him on the shoulder. The giant raised a long, elongated arm and pointed to the inn. In unison, the Hunters drew their weapons and closed in on Liam with great speed.

 _Those filthy sea rats sold me out!_ Liam shouted inwardly, grabbing his hunter's garb and hastily throwing it over his head, not bothering with his other clothing, as he'd have less than a minute before the hunters were breaking down his door.

What a horrible idea staying at the inn! Of course you couldn't trust anyone these days.

His hand went to the doorknob, Liam trying to push through but it didn't budge as he found it barred on the opposite end. He stood back from the door before ramming his shoulder against it. To his shock, he broke the door completely off its frame. He looked at his hands a moment, clenching his fists and feeling his newfound strength.

Many footsteps echoed up the stairwell, reminding Liam to take up arms, the hunter waiting at the top for them. It was then he realized, other than the high-ground, he had nothing to fight with, and regretted leaving his weapon behind so hastily.

When the first one of them emerged on top of the stairs, looking over his shoulder, he was hit by a broken door, Liam throwing the wooden slab like a javelin, stunning the unsuspecting hunter a moment.

Before he could react, Liam closed on the hunter with a swift bound, grabbing him by the face and slamming him into the wall. The hunter in his grasp made a sickening crunch as his head splattered brain matter over the wood, and with a swift motion the gloved hunter threw him back at the other hunters. Liam sprinted forward and jumped into them feet first, his strength sending all of them tumbling down the steps in a disorganized heap.

The hunter pulled his way out, rolling to his feet as the other hunters came to theirs. Liam grabbed a bottle of pungent blood and leapt forward, evading a falling Kirkhammer as he smashed the glass over the black clad hunter's face.

He went to use the broken bottle as a primitive shank against the stunned hunter, but his quarry jumped back into the stairs while two more flanked him. Liam narrowly evaded a sword at his side, the Holy Blade broken into its longsword form for greater maneuverability in the close quarters, the hunter falling back. He used his off hand to flip a dinner table at the group, buying himself a moment while the assassins scattered.

The quarters were far too narrow. He needed to go outside and try to draw them apart, else fall back to the wilderness. On that thought, Liam turned tail and ran for the door, his ears ringing as multiple gunshots rung out. Liam's stomach and hip sprayed blood as the giant bullets tore through his back, trying to throw off their aim by zigzagging the rest of the way to the door.

He crashed through the front entrance and into the square pavilion in front of the inn. There were hunters all around, Liam unable to tell if they brought more or if the group was simply larger than he thought. The giant stood in the background, looming over the groups of black-clad figures as they swooped in.

Liam's icy blue eyes were again blurry with the sweat on his brow, his head jerking back and forth as he was well and truly surrounded . For all the power he had, he was defenseless without a damned weapon. As he thought this, he felt as though the maidens were trying to speak to him, the blood rocks smoldering with power. With a quick glance he noticed the blood from the hunter who's head met the wall was leeching into the right-hand twin, the Echoes conveying their knowledge.

He felt a weight in his hand just as the first hunter, lunging full speed with a greatsword, came in for the kill. Liam ducked around the greatsword and lunged with speed at the upper limits of even a hunter, and plunged the broken bottle into the gut of his target as the other hunters all fired on him.

The hunter's eyes went wide as a gut wrenching sound of rending flesh filled the still midnight air, his mouth uttering pained gurgling as Liam felt his fist pulled further in, his knuckles drawing the blood like fiendish tethers. He braced his foot on the hunter's chest and kicked him off as he forcibly tore the blood from his body, the shards of glass from the bottle earlier falling to the ground

The sight was so macabre, the other hunters, hardened combat specialists, froze in place a moment to take it in. Liam clutched a bouquet of arteries at the base, the tendrils branching outwards in a large plume around him. They glowed reds and golds, twitching and dancing with otherworldly power like serpents withdrawn from their holes.

After a second, the veins pulled themselves together, making slurping noises as they wove into an angular shape and hardened into icy coldblood that resembled amber. Liam flicked the construct, the partially liquified blade extending into a sabre with numerous writhing veins at the base.

Liam's face broke into a fiendish smile, even as his body shook with effort of holding him while he was riddled with bullets. He lunged forward, taking even more damage, but he felt the otherworldly will breathing down his neck, urging him on. He closed in on a hunter, who retaliated with a swipe from his Threaded Cane, Liam scattering the pieces of chain as he sliced right through.

His prey attempted to fall back, but Liam was too fast as his Blood Sabre bisected him, the cast-off never leaving the blade as it was absorbed, drawn into the gauntlets, and funneled into Liam's body. It was like consuming a Blood Vial, the majority of his wounds healing in moments as he kept going. He dodged under a hunter bringing his Kirkhammer to bear, moving fast and low as The Sabre reshaped into a short, broad blade emulating the Saw Cleaver to accommodate the close proximity.

Liam eviscerated him, falling back, and flicking his wrist to extend the blade, laying a broader cut.

The agent of the Church fell in two halves, split hip to shoulder diagonally, the sword again soaking up all the blood, Liam lavishing in the Echoes. This was even greater than the feel of a Blood Vial, he didn't even need an injection. All he had to do was keep slashing away, but the smoldering blood could lance through human flesh and bone with ease, reducing the process to one slash.

He growled, leaping through the air and stabbing a hunter in the throat, drawing the blade down to split him down the center. Liam was frantically dodging hunter to hunter, each one now focused on staying away from him as he could extend his weapon to any length he desired, passing through their defenses and cutting away any limbs he could reach, striking at everything in sight freely and without fear.

He charged one who was in the process of replacing the chamber in his repeater pistol, this one steaming in the air seemingly from sheer heat. He flipped the gun back upright and cocked it, leveling it at the laughing hunter with both hands firmly grasping the grip-

Just as Liam threw his full weight into a forward cut, the hunter fired straight into the hunter's chest, the shot rattling the windows as the two phosphorescent gold bullets nearly removed the hunter's torso entirely, Liam's forward momentum shattered as he reeled back from the smoldering hand cannon.

The hunter leapt forward to place himself in striking distance, plunging his bare hand into Liam's sternum and ripping the base of his throat out. Liam fell flat on his back, his cursing reduced to pitiful gurgles as he flailed around, even the anesthetic properties of the twins unable to reduce trauma that immense.

He tried to get up, but a silver sword was driven through his chest by another hunter.

"Splendid work Roy, this bastard gave us a lot of trouble." He congratulated, twisting the blade.

The gunman shrugged as he sheathed his repeater, Liam pawing at the blade pinning him to the ground.

"It wasn't anything special. Even a child could land a shot against something charging so blindly."

"The Good Blood worships your deeds." Rodger boomed as he lumbered across the dock, Liam grit his teeth, "Though we have lost some of our own, there is now one less enemy of the Church, and the relic has evolved to…"

He paused, Liam starting to glow faintly as his own blood turned hot, the gauntlets glowing with power. They all just dismissed him, assumed he was down for good. He imagined the higher place, held it there as the glow became greater around him. He didn't care how he did it, but he could not stand being beaten down. That aligned with the sisters' own malice, until their will and his own overlapped to the point of one being indiscernible from the other.

Liam's eyes turned red as all the vessels in them burst from exertion, the iris starting to glow golden.

It hurt. More than anything else it hurt as his skin turned a sickening yellow, the blood rocks on his arms glowing intensely. The confused hunters clutched their heads as an ultra-low siren radiated from Liam. A faintly scarlet light that resembled the beacon of a lighthouse began to materialize, rising like the lights of a carriage on a black night, the siren low, but growing deeper and deeper, until it could be felt like a light breeze.

While the noise had no effect on Liam, every hunter clutched their head and screamed when the phantom light and siren laced with unutterable knowledge became too much for them to bear, their skin blistering and turning dark red as their Old Blood boiled in their veins. They looked rabid, saliva shooting from their mouths, their harrowing screams more gut wrenching than any beast, their eyes shot wide with revelation as their brain matter was torn asunder.

Giant black pikes appeared from thin air and ran them through, each strike making a sickening crack, though they disappeared immediately after. Each of these strokes was like the crack of a whip, the frenzied hunters starting to rip at their eyes and faces, a few plunging their fingers into their skull completely.

Within seconds, they were reduced to smoldering, bloody corpses on the ground, their blood exploding from their bodies and spiralling around Liam as though compelled by a strange gravity. Within moments, Liam was back on his feet, the catastrophic wounds stitching together out of the materials he gathered, feeling the Echoes of the Church Hunters granting him strength.

He took several breaths, before he looked to his side and felt his momentary joy wither.

Rodger was holding his head, taking several deep, slow breaths, his pale face red with strain.

"Grant me eyes. Grant me _eyes_." He muttered, shaking the frenzied blood off like a bad fever. He stood up straight, towering over Liam, his mouth curled into a livid snarl.

"How aren't you dead?" Liam shouted, Rodger staring balefully at him,

"Blood addled heretic." He spat, "Do you truly believe the power of the Great Ones can shake the will of an ordained executor of the Healing Church? Their eyes failed to open, and their infirm blood escaped their grasp." He said, gesturing at the fallen hunters, the hairs on Liam's neck prickling. "I, however, remain to take back what rightfully belongs to us."

He reached behind his back, parting his cloak to reveal a body like a petrified tree, his skin stretched tightly over his giant muscles and bones, tumorous growths peeking through bloodied bandages. There was the familiar crank of machinery, and he produced a giant iron axe. It was no trick weapon of the Church or the Hunter's Workshop. It was just a giant, dead heap of iron coated with bloodstains.

Liam called his Blood Sabre to his hand, but he could feel the sisters needed to rest a moment after unleashing the frenzying aura. Rodger was already stomping towards him, his footfalls making the characteristic creak that haunted the Church Giants, only these seemed more swift and confident as he loomed over the smaller hunter.

Rodger swung his axe overhanded, Liam skirting out of the way and going for a slash of his own, but the giant threw a foot forward, the hunter narrowly avoiding the stomp as it sent chips of stone flying, the giant following that up with an underhanded swing casting sparks and pebbles.

The force of his lightning fast swings was so immense, just the energy of it passing by rustled Liam's hair, the hunter remaining on the defensive as he continued backwards, the ground exploding with each missed swing.

Rodger swung yet again, Liam dodging into the swing to get at his hip, but Rodger pivoted on his ankle, swinging his elbow back and striking Liam before he could fully settle on the ground. The Hunter was knocked forward onto his belly, his back aching from the hit as a shadow fell over him. Liam rolled to the side just as Rodger's axe smashed the ground where he sat, getting to his feet and evading another axe swing.

He leapt back a few steps, actually smirking. Rodger was big, and fairly fast, but Liam was used to fighting beasts.

"For all your looks, you seem to only be good for tilling the dirt."

Rodger curled his lips- then laughed,

"You are spirited, if ever the insolent one. If you have no more to show me, I see no point in flattering you any further."

He let up a sharp growl as he stomped the ground, the puddles around him repelled by the force of the impact. The sound of a bell echoed as waves of distortion surrounded his axe, Rodger's eyes glowing a cosmic dark violet and black, his body dancing with arcane power.

Liam could feel a rush of insight at seeing the beastly giant, letting his guard down an instant too long as violet bubbles of explosive energy sent the giant forward at speeds that should've been impossible for something his size, his fist coming forward in a literal flash.

Though the skin never made contact, a concentrated explosion at the end of Rodger's fist extended his range even further, Liam hearing a thunderclap as his ribs were crushed, blood gushing from his mouth as he was sent sliding backwards.

Squinting through his ringing concussion, Liam saw Rodger pull a parasite out of his cloak and thrust it forward. A portal materialized around the insect, a cluster of pale tentacles shooting forward like javelins, Liam skirting around them and landing shakily on his feet. He lost sight of the giant, and looked up just in time to jump back from the falling beast, poising himself to jump in and slash him as he landed.

Liam lunged with his Blood Sabre, but he didn't mind the shockwave radiating from Rodger's feet and was knocked back again.

Rodger crouched and sprang forward, landing a flying knee in Liam's gut, the impact supplemented by another wave. The chosen hunter's body quaked from the impact, Liam's stomach dropping as he flew through the air and slammed into a building, black spots flooding his vision as his brain bounced around in his skull like ship tossed on a stormy sea.

He panted heavily as he fell off the wall and tried as hard as he could to stand, but his legs refused to work, even as Rodger charged him, axe borne over his shoulder. Right as Rodger enclosed him, putting his weight into an overhand swing, Liam was able to jump aside, the axe screeching as it went right through the wall it struck, the arcane light peeling the material away like paper.

Liam dashed a short ways to get in position, but was struck by the parasite, the lashes breaking his shoulders and knocking him to the ground again. He pushed himself up, Rodger grabbing him by the back of the head and hoisting him,

"What's wrong!? You were so confident you could challenge the Healing Church a moment ago." Liam let up a silent scream as Rodger kneed him in the back, his spine crunching as Liam lost the feeling in both legs. The brute fully extended his arm, rolling his shoulder to ram the hunter into the ground with the full force of his body, Liam's body cracking like a sack of woodchips, "The Great Ones are wasted on you, you miserable, arrogant fool."

He punctuated, pulling Liam up by his leg and tossing him into the air, punting Liam as he fell back down. The hunter flew several meters before tumbling to a stop, coughing blood as he convulsed on the ground in a crumpled heap.

It was impossible. Not even the twins were strong enough to hold him off. Not in a fair fight…

Rodger stomped towards him, his axe swaying at his side while Liam tried to think of something he could do to fight back as he twitched on the ground. He got another feeling, to simply let go and allow the sisters to stand in for him as his near-death aroused them, Liam slipping a moment as the giant raised his axe for a killing blow.

The blood around Liam's body filled with the vein-like tendrils of energy from his gauntlets, moving like an extra appendage and striking Rodger's right ankle. The possessed blood burrowed up the length of his leg in an instant, staggering him out of his attack while the threads of coldblood perforated his organs and heart, each tendril absorbing the surrounding tissue until a bloom of solid blood erupted from Rodger's body.

The veins in his neck turned into lances trained on his brain, his glowing eyes going out as a pair of bloody prongs came through the back of his head, his body falling backwards and hitting the cobblestone with a solid thump.

Liam, from his spot on the ground, swiftly absorbed all the Blood Echoes, the sheer weight of the frenzied coldblood making his skin prickle and head go numb. He couldn't tell if he'd grown stronger (though it felt like it) but his healing abilities were definitely greater as he got up, his bones knitting together and scar-tissue covering his gashes. He regarded the dead giant, wondering what mutations could have lead to such a thing.

He was too mighty to be a man. Too lucid to be a beast. Too low to be a Great One...

But, none of that mattered in the end because he was dead, and his Echoes were Liam's. The hunter placed a trembling hand on his chest, the skin numb to his own touch. He was healing without the use of vials, but he realized that with all the damage he was sustaining it was not entirely enough. A moment after, he realized he was mistaking the flesh of the Great Ones for his own and was still wearing the gauntlets.

He needed to rest more to allow all the Echoes to settle and gather his thoughts, but he came face to face with the townspeople, the sardonic innkeeper huffing on a cigar, staring at Liam, then the giant, then back.

"I guess your plan fell through." Liam growled, the innkeeper's lips curling into a smirk around his cigar,

"Yeah, I guess it did." he said, "Now look what ya' did. When the Church gets 'ere, they're going to find this mess. They're going to be pretty angry, I reckon."

"Well, if you'd decided to keep your end of the deal, none of this would have happened."

"What kind of fool do ya' take me for?" He said, shaking his head, "you were never going to give 'em up. I could see it in yer eyes. The lust for blood and power is just too much for ya' hunters to handle. Now this whole town's gonna pay for it."

"That's your problem, not mine." Liam spat, taking a jar to the back of the head. It shattered into a greasy spray of viscous yellow, the hunter's eyes squinting shut as the shattered porcelain fell to the ground, Liam shaking some of it off.

"You think throwing your chamberpots at me is going to gain the Church's good graces?" He yelled as his eyes began to sting, each breath burning his lungs as the greasy liquid trailed down, "You should _*caugh cack*_ be on your knees and _*caugh* *caugh*_ " It became hard to breathe, the hot fumes making Liam woozy as he coughed repeatedly.

The innkeeper removed his cigar, cradling it between his fingers and exhaling an infernal breath of smoke, "It ain't piss, mate." He said, "Only one way to deal with a wayward beast."

Liam's burning eyes sprung open as the villager flicked his cigar at Liam's face, his vision completely drowning in flames as the kerosene fumes ignited.

He screamed and pawed at his face, his lungs scorching from within as the fumes he'd inhaled found their way to the burning lantern oil. He fell to his knees, the hungry flames consuming his air as he tried to breathe and continued to paw at his face.

A flying whiskey bottle broke over his forehead, the alcohol flashing into a bloom of flame, the villagers jeering and calling as they threw more molotov's at him. Liam's lungs screamed as he begun to suffocate, unable to take a breath without inhaling a mouthful of cinders and smoke, until all he could do was cough from his ruined lungs.

He rolled around on the ground, but the flame would not go out, his body struck by an unutterable pain as he went into convulsions trying to smother it in any way possible. The twins tried to heal him, but the new flesh was burned away and cauterized faster than it could be replaced, the escalating heat starting to sear to the bones as his muscles refused to respond to him.

He eventually sprung to his feet and sprinted, his eyes completely obscured by the yellow fires scorching them away, Liam hearing a howl of pain echoing around him, but he was too in shock to tell if it was another or just him. Likewise, the harrowing screams of the Great Ones completely drowned any thoughts he had, their flesh burning along with his.

He didn't know where he was going, he just ran, the rushing air only feeding the pyre as he turned into a running tinder.

His feet stepped into empty air, Liam toppling forward and falling into the icy waters, the shock of the icy ocean on his burnt skin finally driving him past the point of enduring, his eyes going dark as he went still and sunk straight down.

This time, he did not dream, and just laid in the sands beneath the waves for a period of time before his eyes crept open. He no longer felt his flesh, resting in a dreamlike trance as he stared at the moonlight flickering on the surface. He couldn't breathe the water, but didn't require air to sustain himself, subsisting on the power of the Old Blood alone.

He felt like a ghoul being driven along by its vampiric master as the twins urged him awake to find more blood, his hands pulling him from the shifting sands and eventually drawing him upwards. His emaciated hands grasped the edge of the pier, pulling him from the sea, until he was sliding across the dock on his stomach.

The air burned him a moment, his hunter's garb nearly completely torn and charred beyond using, allowing the chilly autumn air to caress his scarred flesh as he rose to his feet. His skin was a hodgepodge of bleached scar tissue and flesh borrowed from his prey, his head completely clean of hair with two gold, bloodshot eyes that faintly echoed with insight.

His breath was shallow and uneven as he slumped forward with fatigue, his raspy breath becoming a snort of dry amusement when he looked at his arms. The brass was not damaged too greatly, and the blood rock was perfectly intact, but heatscale and burnt matter were clinging all over the construct, the Great One flesh shriveled up slightly from the fire. His arms were filled with glowing veins where the rock leached into his blood, the unnatural moisture beneath the leather gone as it became a sort of biological epoxy, fusing the leather to his own skin.

Unless he literally stripped the flesh from his bones (and even then he would heal as he took the cuts), he was the permanent host of the girls. No matter. He could take whatever shape he desired when he became a Great One himself.

His eyes raised up to a few horrified villagers, their faces more filled with shock than hostility as he'd risen from the depths. Liam's eyes squinted, his breath growling between his chipped, jagged teeth as the Blood Sabre materialized at his side...


	4. Act III

Burning. Far behind Liam the golden glow of fire could be seen for miles as the tiny little whaling village on the seashore burned, the destruction as absolute as he could assure with his limited materials. He managed to replace all his ruined hunter's clothes before he left, now donning a leather tricorn cap to cover his brow, his head feeling chilled with the loss of his hair.

In fact, it was more painful to have the wind blowing across his wounded skin than to wear the heavy wools and leathers he found, his feet crunching the rotten leaves and twigs underfoot with his heavy boots, thick trousers tucked into the lip. His double breasted greatcoat, a grey-blue like a twilight sky, trailed behind him as he walked against the wind, the golden buttons glinting in the moonlight like sets of predatory eyes, the collar turned up to keep the wind off his neck.

The sleeves were sliced off at the elbow, since his hands were already shielded from the cold and it gave the fair maidens more room to bathe in the blood he spilt. His hands were resting in his pockets as he walked, his breathing coming out as a haggard wheeze between his broken teeth as he wandered aimlessly, vigilant for any beasts.

The Savior, in the name of his maidens, was ready to claim the Echoes of anything that encountered him, and felt a promethean flame in his heart as he walked under the canopy of blackened trees. He was fast becoming proficient at knowing the extent of his abilities, drawing deeper and deeper from the power of the Great Ones.

Lingering near the road he came upon a village after a while, sensing the presence of Echoes within the collection of rough hunting lodges and small stores, another little village on the path to Yharnum. He came striding into town, the buildings reflected in the large lake dominating the center. A few fishing lodges and piers stretched into the water, a lumber mill resting on the coast of an inlet river.

The majority of the houses were darkened at that hour as the townspeople slept, the streets mostly empty. A group not far ahead of the savior caught his attention. Several gentlemen were flanking a lavishly dressed figure in a tophat, his cane tapping the planks irritably while a few finely dressed men with rapiers kept the rabble at bay.

"Now, you'd better fess up, or there's going to be trouble!" One of the angry villagers snapped, the noble pulling at his silky collar and standing a little further behind his guardians,

"Yeah, we've all heard the rumors." Another gentlemen shouted. "Ain't nobody sees you around here anymore."

"Be quiet you," the noble barked, trying to keep his voice hushed as not to wake anyone else. "The Healing Church is all around this night."

"Is that why you're off at this time of evening?"

"I cannot say, and I will speak no more on the matter!" The noble growled. "Now, step aside, and be gone from my sight." His gaze was taken by Liam as the hunter came before him, the other gentlemen turning towards him and immediately falling back, looks of horror and disgust dominating their plain faces.

"Hello," Liam wheezed, "I overheard some of your conversation. Is there some kind of trouble?"

His ghastly appearance kept the noble silent a moment, another speaking in his place, "Yeah, his daughters have been missing the better part of a fortnight. They came down here to sing at the church every week, never failing. Now they haven't been seen at all."

"Are they missing?"

"No," another snapped as he pointed at the nobleman, "but _he_ has been seeking out the local vicars and healers for a few months now when he thinks no-one sees 'em. They didn't look too well. They've turned, I know it."

"Keep it down!" The father snapped, turning to Liam. "Yes. It is true that they have been undergoing some rather… frightful changes, but they are every bit as firm as they ever were."

Liam turned his head up with focus, listening to the twins' faint voices and trying to make them out, the gentleman around him continuing to stare. He looked back at them, "I can help you."

"Are you a vicar?" the noble asked, "You don't really look it."

"I am a hunter, but I believe I have the tools to assist you with your problem."

He was met with a skeptical stare, his brown eyes narrowing to tiny slits, "And to what tools do you refer?"

"These fair maidens." He said, putting his arms out, everyone else scattering away,

"My goodness, what sorcery conjured those things?" The noble said, his guard's keeping their hands firmly on their swords, "I am the baron of this town. I have had dealings with instruments of blood, but never have I seen something such as that. Does it hurt?"

"Not at all. I claimed them from the sea, but that is not important." Liam said, "What is important is that I have the power to tame the Old Blood. As such, it is possible that I may be able to reverse whatever unpleasantness they suffer from."

"Hmm," the baron was pacing as he considered it, releasing a sad sigh, "Your promise seems so sweet I have trouble believing it. If such a thing were possible, what would you ask in return?"

Liam wheezed a long, smoky breath into the chilly autumn air as he thought, coming to what he usually desired, "Usually I would be content to consume their blood, especially with the sisters to feed of course. Whatever beastly blood I expunge would suffice."

"However…"

"However, I grow weary and cold. I have had a long, hard night. So, I should want a warm bed to sleep in. I also want someone to share it with."

The baron's expression wavered for a moment, "I have plenty of guest bedrooms at my manor, but the latter request… don't you believe that is a little- extreme?"

"If you want your daughters to continue suffering, then by all means, you can find someone else." He smirked, "On second thought. I wouldn't want to leave a beast behind to endanger the citizenship, I am a hunter first and foremost. I came here in search of Blood Echoes, and one way or another I will have them."

"You-" the baron stopped himself, gritting his teeth, "Alright. I do not know how, but I will find a way to fill your demands. I possess great wealth, I am sure I can arrange something satisfactory. You leave me little choice, my family reputation and daughters are on the line."

"Good." Liam said, the baron leading him away, the middle-aged, slender man adding,

"I want your word that you will do everything in your power to return them to me unharmed."

"Yes, you may have my word." Liam said, "I must save my precious maidens afterall."

"Your gauntlets?"

"…Yes, my gauntlets." They both walked in silence for several minutes, getting into a carriage and riding it several miles down a dusty path, towards the center of the great estate. Liam kneaded his hands together and tried to feel them through the burnt, veiny leather as the treeline swept past them.

The baron looked bothered about something, and finally put it to words when they reached the towering manor, stepping out and being allowed through the rusty iron gates.

"Forgive my saying but, you seem very… unwell."

"What? You think I'm mad?" Liam questioned as they walked around the circular drive, the pale white house covered with lamps flecked with icy rain, "I understand you do not see the things that I see." He said, his head tilting up as he sighted a colossal, insectoid creature clinging off the side of the home. Its spongy head lazily tracked them, raw flesh embedded with dozens of golden eyes resting behind the grate of rock-hard exoskeleton, a cluster of squirming tentacles acting as a sort of strange beard.

Liam turned away from the spawn, his head ringing with the familiar rush of concentrated thought-stuff, "But I assure you, my power is real."

"I certainly hope so." The baron replied, the maids letting them in, one bearing a tray full of blood glasses, which the baron and Liam took from her in kind. Though it lacked the potency of the Church Hunters, the blood was of the highest grade, sweet and smooth like thin syrup. The Baron lead Liam up a set of red-carpeted stairs. "I don't make this common knowledge, but my town has been struggling these past years. My eldest is set to marry the earl of a city not far from here. As you can imagine, if those plans fall through, my estate and all its occupants would be at risk."

"I understand perfectly." Liam said, though he was distracted by all the lady servants walking by. He could have his pick of the bunch, and there was nothing the baron could really do since, regardless of wealth or class, Liam was the one in power now. None of them were quite perfect though. None of them really caught his gaze.

They reached a large door, mold and moisture trailing down the edges, and Liam could feel an otherworldly presence on the other side,

"Now", the baron said, unlocking the door and starting to swing it open, "when you step inside… I warn you the sight is quite gruesome. Don't allow it to distract from your work."

Liam stepped through the threshold, squinting at the rush of insight, and nearly retching at the sight before him. The entire room was dark, the candles extinguished and the lavish wing torn to pieces as furniture was crushed, tapestries, paintings, and drapes were torn, and thick tendrils of pale white webbing hung all around the chamber.

Towards the back room, the "sisters" were huddled close to one another, stepping into the moonlight trailing through the cracked windows with a tapping, scratching sound accompanying it. Their lower bodies were completely gone, and parts of their backs were completely gutted, with foreign veins and muscles intruding into their organs. The arachnoid body replacing their legs seemed to draw sustenance from their human host, exoskeletal bits like jaws wrapping around their abdomen, with eyes decorating the "head" just behind the small of their back and on the fused mandibles.

The twins recalled that a Great One in a certain plane kept such attendants, though usually only a head remained. These were far larger and retained more of their humanity than those ones, likely due to the purity of their blood, the supply of Old Blood granted by their father, and the desiccated corpses strung from the ceiling above them.

Liam curled his lip in disgust. They weren't even beasts, they were humans who had willingly bonded to actual beasts, the amalgam threaded together by the magic of the Great Ones in a mockery less than the sum of its parts.

"Father, look." One of them, possessing long, pale hair spoke, trying to balance on her many limbs as she worked her way over, the grotesque, hairy arms quivering with effort, "It's a miracle."

"F-Father Oedon has blessed us. I can see so much." The other said, drunk on insight her her heavily dilated eyes wavered along with her shaky, uneven breath.

The baron was shaking, sweat and tears falling down his face, clearly not prepared to observe the abominations yet, "No, I refuse to believe it!" He shouted, "The blood has made both of you monsters. Heavens, I had hoped to be vigilant, so the beastly plague would not claim you. But I will make this right."

He turned to Liam, "Alright, do it. Bring them back to me."

The hunter grinned as the sisters paired up on eachother and asked what their father was talking about, the gloves resonating with power as he concentrated, though he would need the twins to aid him in the task.

He thrust his palms forward, unleashing torrents of pale arcane energy upon them both, the streaks laced with his unending supply of Old Blood. They screamed and clutched their bodies as the threads of arcane power leached into their skin, the bonds of the beastly scourge breaking beneath their skin as the bits of beast fused to their fronts started to peel away, threads of tendons and sinew being torn from them as it was forced to spit them up.

Their screams filled the entire wing, their flesh sizzling as their spine detached from the beastly spider, their muscles and bones peeling from them as their natural legs reformed, the appendages masses of raw meat and bone trying to find a shape. Theirs veins were exposed to the open air, every errant twitch sending shutters of pain straight to their brain.

The arachnoid eyes went out along with the ensnaring limbs, the sisters finally falling out of their beastly cage as their legs became more and more defined, the noises defying description as the beasts writhed around directionless and the sisters convulsed with the trauma of being essentially bisected.

After several gut-wrenching moments, it was finished. The daughters in front of him were on the ground naked, curled up into balls and shivering with the loss of their beastly bodies and blood, letting up nothing but whimpers of pain.

He advanced on the sisters, lips curled in disgust seeing the malformed spiders heaped on the ground, his wrist flicking to materialize the Blood Sabre, the fair maidens slavering over the Old Blood from the Nightmare oozing from the lips of the peeled-open arachnid.

The daughter slowly regaining her senses, shouted at Liam from the ground as he raised his blade.

"No, stop!" She cried weakly as Liam rammed the sword straight through the face of the beast, its blood turning the amber blade bright golds as it basked in the echoes, Liam's own arm trembling with the rush. He was vaguely aware of the screaming sister beneath him, grasping him by the leg as her tears bathed his pantleg.

He kicked her off and continued to the next, the pale sister yelling at him, but her words seemed to vanish as they reached him, as all Liam's concentration focused squarely on the blood draining from the prone beast, its eyes wavering at him pleadingly.

The pale sister even went so far as to unsteadily work herself to her feet and try to charge him, Liam backhanding her off her feet with little effort, and reaching the second spider. He took the sabre in both hands and thrust it in, twisting the blade as the arachnid made several gurgling noises and died.

He absorbed all the blood, the great level of strength making his entire body shake, Liam's wheezy breath filled with content.

With that, the deed was done, the two sisters cleansed, but woozy. Their father ran over and tried to embrace the elder of the two, the raven-haired girl kicking him back,

"How could you," she cried, "It was a miracle-"

Her father slapped her upside the head, leaving a red mark on her fair cheek,

"You've been gripped by the same lunacy as those Church Hunters, but I'm here now. We'll get you sorted out and then you can return to your duties."

Liam's eyes ran over her body as the father tried to break through to her. She carried the sweet scent of blood on her pale, nearly flawless skin, her ebon hair reaching to her shoulders. Her breasts and hips were bountiful and sleek, and he guessed that her blood was pure, as well.

The baron looked over his shoulder at Liam, meeting his eye and standing up.

"Cedrick," he called to his butler, "Take Alice and Willa to the guest wing, I will conclude our arrangements with this hunter."

"Yes, Master Rochester." The baron's butler and bodyguard replied, gently helping the elder daughter to her feet and leading her along, while another retrieved the younger sister, both of them heading towards the door.

"Finely done, good hunter." The baron said, gratitude thick in his voice, "You have kept your word. As such, I will keep my own. As much as it weighs heavy on my consciousness, I am sure my servants can be made to understand."

"Of course they can." Liam growled, "That is the nature of servants. But I have changed my mind."

Baron Rochester's hesitant smile wavered a bit, "What on?"

"Nothing. I just know what I want now." He said, catching one final look at the elder daughter as she was brought through the doorway, running from her firm shoulders to her toned, long legs. The baron caught his gaze again, his relief giving way to outrage, his voice low but aggressive,

"That wasn't part of the deal!"

"Well it is now." Liam spat back, "Don't tell me you're going back on our deal, after I did my part?"

"Of course not, but that is out of the question-" He gasped, the Blood Sabre nearly lancing the baron's throat as it sprung from Liam's gauntlet, the tip resting under his chin.

"I am tired of not getting what I want." Liam rasped, "You should show me more respect than that."

"You're more of beast than they were." He whimpered, trying to inch the blade away from his throat, "I knew it, I've invited a madman into my home." He said, several seconds passing, Liam's heart racing in excitement.

"Very well." The baron relented, "I see I have no other option. But please, at least give her a chance to rest. Understand what is going on."

Liam retracted his sword, "Fine. I have time to digest all these fresh Echoes, but I will not be leaving without my reward."

"Yes, of course. A noble soul such as yourself deserves an equally noble reward." Baron Rochester stoically echoed, "Why don't you come downstairs? Despite the hour of the night, I would much enjoy a fine glass of wine. It is only fitting I share a table with my daughter's savior, and my eldest's first bedfellow."

"It would be my pleasure." Liam said, following the baron downstairs, the savior distracted by the thoughts of the eldest daughter's sweet body. The twins felt a similar yearning, the Kin unable to procreate, and wishing nothing more than to have children to grant their attentions.

Who knew, maybe Liam's night with the two sisters would fill both their desires, the idea reddening his scarred face and placing a thin smile on his lips.

They entered a candlelit dining hall, Liam and the baron sitting on either side of the table. The Savior was almost sad he could no longer feel with his hands, wishing he could touch the pure silk tablecloth set over the table, the light from the many golden candelabras dancing across it like sunlight.

Fruit bowls filled with fresh apples, grapes, and pears sat alongside trays of berries, and on the back wall the faintly beige paint was accented with a marble hearth set with olive branches and statuettes. Cedrick, the butler, walked in after they were seated,

"The girls are shaken, but alright." He said, "Their humors do seem entirely melancholy, and they whisper to eachother about the loss of Great One's favor."

"It will pass." The baron said, "Their misguided depression. I am sure that I can resolve it."

"Is there anything I can do for you, my Lord?"

The baron stared at Liam, the savior smirking back at him, feeling his anger but knowing how helpless the so-called noble was. The baron turned to the butler, "Yes, I shall want a bottle of my finest wine, from my private stores. But first," he turned to Liam, "Do you smoke?"

"Yes, if you have any."

The baron turned to his servant, "Bring me my cigar case."

"Mind the ashes, sir?" The butler asked,

"Mind the ashes." The baron echoed, Cedrick taking his leave to grab the fineries, before the baron turned to Liam, "You'll have to excuse me, my servants can be terribly poor about cleaning the ash tray. It's the smoke, you see."

"I'm certain." Liam said, "I must say, you're taking this entire affair better than most."

"Well, you know how it is." The baron said eloquently, "When disaster strikes the estate, it is my job to manage my affairs and protect it with everything I have to offer. That is what we fathers do. Of course, that can lead me to abiding by unpleasant things, but we live in an unpleasant world, afterall."

The butler came back holding a large, carved wooden case in his hands, setting it on the table in front of the baron.

"Ah, there we are. Punctual as always, my fair Cedrick." He opened the latches on the small case, raising the lid, "And not a moment too soon."

He produced a massive hand cannon, grey ashes trailing from the barrel as he leveled it at Liam and pulled the trigger,

The explosive force of the bullet ripped through Liam's chest and shattered the back of the chair, the savior being knocked on his back while the stone column behind him likewise suffered massive damage, sending flecks of rocks everywhere, the shot echoing through the manor.

The duke laid the gun on the table, Liam's blood splattered all over his face and the back wall. He took a handkerchief from Cedrick and wiped his face while Liam grasped the hole in his ribcage,

"There's your reward, hunter." He said, "From one man to another. I'll have to apologize to the maids for having to clean up the mess," he said, rising from his chair, "Cedrick, do be kind and remove his body from my sight, while I go and see to my daughters."

He stopped as Liam shakily rolled over and stood up, still grasping his chest as he wheezed harder, but he was gaining strength fast.

"What?" The baron exclaimed, Liam meeting his eyes and standing up straight, his coat sporting a massive hole through the front with several pulsating veins filling the rift.

"That… wasn't very polite." Liam rasped, shaking as he was taken by a short fit of giggling. As the baron went for his gun Liam's hand thrust forward, several scarlet tendrils intercepting him faster than he could reach.

The scarlet vines pierced the baron's chest, absorbing his blood and multiplying, destroying his organs near instantly and splattering blood across the back wall with the violence of their movement. Liam withdrew the killing vines, reaching over the table and taking the baron's pistol in hand. He assessed the weight and length as he held it, the style reminding him of the Cainhurst "Evelyn", the books describing it as a lavishly ornamented hand cannon with heavy draws on Bloodtinge, though he'd never seen one in person and he was sure this was far smaller.

He leveled the firearm at Cedrick, who was backing away, his face paled with the sudden death of his master. Liam pulled the hammer back, the hollow grip biting him with little hollow tubes as they drew his blood into the chamber, transforming into Quicksilver Bullets.

The twins donated some of their blood as well, the firearm heating up as the alchemical properties readied a truly immense shot. The butler was running away now, calling for the guard, Liam's finger drawing back the heavy trigger.

Even for his strength the firearm kicked hard, Liam's arm bending at the elbow as the butler's kneecap exploded into bone chips and paste. Liam grinned, relishing the great power, and striding over to Cedrick as he pathetically tried to crawl away, blood pouring from the bloody stump that remained of his leg.

Liam stomped on the back of his neck, bringing his gun down and taking aim at his skull. With one pull and a paltry amount of blood, the servant's head burst like a grape, the floor beneath it breaking as the recoil went up Liam's arm and into his chest.

He was in love with his gun, and started off. He still had unfinished business afterall. Trailing blood from his boot as he walked calmly through the manor, he dispatched each thing that entered his line of sight with a single clean shot, Liam discovering that cooking each round with Kin coldblood gave each shot the impact of dynamite. The household was in disarray as people ran screaming away, trying to escape.

Despite his shaking hand, Liam decided to let some go. Afterall, what was the fun in being forgotten?

He switched hands, holding the pistol in his left and using the right to conjure his sword, that way it more aligned with habit. He heard a sound behind a closet door, and sliced the wood open, throwing the pieces aside until he found a maid cowering within.

"Where are they?" he hissed, the terrified maid curling into a ball. He grabbed her by the shoulder, hoisting her up, "You're wasting my time."

"They're upstairs!" she shouted in a panic, "All the way down the hall, then take a right and a left." She cried, "Please don't kill me."

The savior threw her against the wall, the woman yelping but otherwise unharmed as he stomped away, all the sounds of the household fading away as it cleared out. Soon, only his low wheeze was audible as he followed the directions, reaching the door and throwing it open, his bloodshot eyes rapidly scanning the room.

The sisters stood before him, his eyes rising from the floor alongside his anger.

Silky white bedsheets were adorning their throats as they dangled side by side, strung up like real spiders. By their colorless cheeks and lack of movement, they were fully dead, likely had been for a few minutes. The trauma of having the beastly blood pulled out of them, and the weakness of their human bodies was too much for them to bear afterall.

The side of Liam's fist crushed the doorframe, the veins and needles of rock pulsing on the surface of his leathery skin.

 _What a waste of time_

Soon after that, he was outside, the town whipped into a frenzy in the distance. He wandered into the treeline with little urgency. Anyone foolish enough to pursue him was just a little extra blood.

At this point, really, that was the only thing there was. His skin was starting to lose all feeling, as did his mind. What began as something thrilling and exciting became dull and tiresome. Liam was starting to come to terms with that fact that after everything that transpired, there was no life for him here anymore. His wild passions had carried him past the point where he could bow his head and go back home. But, all he needed to do was simply transcend to the higher plane and leave those worries behind, he just needed blood… blood…

His mind grew hazy as he drifted past the blackened trees, determined to wander until he eventually hit something. He couldn't stop, his aspect becoming like a grim spectre until his wanderings took him to a large meadow.

The full moon, while above the pines, was in the early phases of setting on the horizon, the black sky turning the faintest shades of indigo. The night was long, but dawn was coming. His mind wandered to what would happen when the sun rose. He would probably keep living, but what would he do?

He was grasped with an overwhelming anxiety to escape into the Nightmare, and was grateful when he caught the scent of blood downwind, quickening his pace like a dog under the lash, wading through the tall grasses.

He came upon a sort of ritual sight, enshrining the moonlight from the trees above in a circle of bones and rocks bathed in blood. Lesser beasts were nailed up to several posts on the perimeter of the simple area, a small pool of water resting in the center, with a vaguely humanoid figure standing overtop.

It was not among the stranger things he'd seen that evening, as sad as that sounded now. It was bipedal, with a great cloak of animal hides stitched together, one arm grasping a tall wooden staff topped with a glinting iron spearhead. Its head was the barren skull of a maneater boar possessing large tusks, the helm hung with small rocks, though tangles of brown hair fell out the back and down the hides.

As he got closer, the beast turned, using its spear as a walking stick as it regarded him and drew closer. He soon realized that it wasn't actually a beast, but a tall woman wearing animal hides as a cloak. While everything else seemed primitive and natural, several snug-fitting silver plates of armor were shining beneath the furs, the protection resembling that of Cainhurst Knights. While she appeared human, Liam could feel the familiar throb of new insight, suggesting a great deal of power.

And yet she didn't seem hostile as she approached him, getting within a short distance and pushing her helmet-skull up, revealing her soft, youthful face. She had light tan skin adorned with several painted runes of coldblood and charcoal, and her expression was focused, yet naive and curious.

Liam's grip on his gun tightened as she leaned in closer, reaching out and taking his hand in hers, her polished silver grasping his pulsing, emaciated leather. The veins crawling through his skin retreated from her touch as she inspected the gruesome limb up and down, the twins urging him to take her blood.

His eyes were lost in her sad gaze as she backed away again. She forcefully grasped his hand and pulled him forward, biting into the veins with a feral growl. His gauntlet was flooded with her own irregular Echoes, the enchantment on the twins seeming to unravel as Liam cried out with pain and pulled back. All the squirming veins going up his arm and shoulders were partially liquefied, getting pulled from him like roots from weeds, the savior struggling to get away.

His resistance faltered for an instant when he realized the grip on the gauntlets was wavering, the edges of the leather peeling off his burned skin as the vampiric grip on his flesh was slowly relaxed, his leprous old flesh oozing from beneath it. She was trying to rip them off him, take away all his powers.

Take it all away. The whispers, the desire for blood, everything. Leaving only himself behind.

His heart jumped a beat as he was struck by the revelation that if he lost them, he would be stuck here, on this plane. He would never voyage into the beyond or raise to a higher plane. After everything he did, the Church, the Yharnumites, everyone would be hunting him, and there was nothing he could do to hide, being marked so grievously. Liam grit his teeth as the tendrils continued to withdraw, the pain suppressed by the twins starting to surface. He could bear it no longer!

He tore his arm away, the veins tearing between her teeth. The gauntlets grasped him once more, his Blood Sabre forming as he swiped at her, the witch's eyes widening as his blade honed in.

She leapt back with great speed, flicking something from behind her back as the tip of his blade spattered across the enchanted silver. A faint glint was the only warning Liam got as the razor-sharp knife plunged into his eye, the hunter howling and clutching his face. He leveled his gun at her and fired several shots, the witch evading the hail of bullets with a series of lightfooted jumps, her toes absorbing the impact of her rattling light armor.

She landed on the ground with her spear held in a low stance. The sorrow in her eyes continued to haunt the savior as she reached up with her free hand, pulling her helm over her face and taking her spear in both hands.

Liam pulled the knife from his eye. It was slow to heal, blood obscuring his vision as the witch charged forward in a low stance, bracing her spear for a thrust, Liam slashing at her as she closed in.

Several bones around her hands glowed and she vanished in a faint cloud of blood for a brief instant, appearing on Liam's opposite side by his shoulder. He was unable to tell if she teleported or simply moved faster than the eye could follow as he redistributed his weight and went for her again.

She threw her arms open in a scream amplified by blood, knocking him off balance, the witch leaping into the air for extra leverage as she rammed her spear through his chest and pinned him to the ground. The witch stomped on his chest and stabbed him in the throat, Liam's gauntlets erupting into a plume of jagged tendrils, but her quickening brought her safely out of harm's way as it carried her airbourne, the witch using her knees like springs as she fell to the ground.

Liam, now with his eye partially blinded but his throat healed, squared up on the armored boar witch, who took a more defensive stance and strafed to the side, spooked by his healing. She braced her spear and thrust again after a moment, Liam dodging to the side and leveling his gun at her head, but the witch blinked out of danger and appeared next to him.

Liam was ready to strike, springing forward in a long thrust as the witch opened her cloak and grabbed a rope dangling from a hidden pouch. She dodged towards him this time and pulled a bottle from her back by the rope, swinging it into his back as she passed. He was engulfed with flames as the viscous fluid ignited in the open air, Laim screaming in anger alongside the twins, when a second bottle smashed into his feet, Liam coughing as a strong, pale mist erupted from the little glass globe.

The thick, milky vapor hissed on contact with his blood, the twins crying out in shock as it numbed the Old Blood with some form of counteragent. He'd heard about such a weapon, but wasn't prepared as the already faint pain of his wounds vanished completely, the side effect being the Old Blood could no longer recognize his wounds, his regeneration slowing to a crawl.

He started to panic as the flames continued to eat at him while his healing was gone, several scalpels riddling his arms as the boar witch rapidly drew and tossed several from the holster on her lower back.

Liam pulled them out, turning them and realizing the sharp edge was coated with a sickly violet pus of crushed herbs. The savior stared at the witch, screaming as he charged, furious as she shrugged him off with so little effort.

As Liam closed in yet again, she moved her hands to the lower part of her spear and used the tip to parry his attacks, the tip smoldering with dark scarlet energy as she consistently broke the tip of the blade from his arm. While Liam could just summon the blade back, he found himself frantically trying to push her back as she pierced right through it, until he started taking stabs to the limbs and chest as her spear punished every gap in his defense.

The witch's quickening made it impossible to close the gap on her, and soon the tide was reversed, the witch driving him back as he desperately tried to defend himself, extending his sabre as far as it could go while still holding its effectiveness.

He split the sabre into many tendrils as she pulled her spear back, thrusting them at her with all his might as his many bleeding wounds slowed him down. He was intent on getting around her defense to skewer her but as usual, she was able to evade him, Liam's pistol flying to his side as she materialized where he predicted. She tucked to the side as fast as she could, but his pistol still grazed her, Liam gasping as the blood bullet simply reflected off the ceremonial silver, turning into harmless liquid.

His eyes widened. When his sabre broke earlier he assumed it was due to the strength of her metal mail, but now he had the impression-

 _Her armor is immune to blood!?_ And all his weapons were blood.

She stabbed for him one-handed a few times, Liam stepping around to her exposed flank, materialing his sword to slash for her head.

In a motion so fast if he blinked he would have missed it, the witch pulled a short, stout pistol from her back and shot him in the shoulder, knocking him off balance-

She rammed her spear into his abdomen, stunning him as she brought her pistol between his eyes. His gloves unleashed a full bloom of of tendrils, the witch stepping back as the vines uselessly rolled off her armor, taking aim, and taking the shot.

Liam's world went black as blood sprayed from the bridge of his nose and out the back of his head, nearly falling from his feet just as the numbing mist cleared. He regained his composure as he healed, opening his eyes to the boar witch right in his face. She stabbed him in the neck with a jagged blade dripping with green ooze, his world breaking into a feverish, hallucinogenic haze as he instantly lost all sense of direction and balance.

The witch seemed to stand in three places at once, looking at once friend, foe, and stranger as she watched him stumble around, trying to focus on his target as he fell back. Faces of his past victims and adversaries danced across his vision, his arm going up as he screamed incoherently.

The twins broke him out of it, a flood of siren's insight pouring from him in a golden light, the witch clutching her head and screaming, Liam finally smiling as the wounds and poisons were worked from his system.

As he watched her collapse to her knees, he imagined what he would do to her if she survived. If she survived, he would punish her properly for wounding him this way. Afterall, he still had unsatisfied desires from earlier.

His thoughts were interrupted as she rolled back her helmet, pulling yet another bottle from a hidden pocket on that damned hide cape, and downed the thick, icy blood. He watched the frenzied veins receding away, her expression calming just as the frenzying aura lost energy and faded.

Liam panted, his breath shortening, before it culminated in a tremendous scream, the witch just watching him with pity as she rolled her skull mask down.

She had to be running out of tricks. She had to run out of ways to keep holding him back. He felt his desire frenzying, everything narrowing down to his conquering of her, his taking of her. He had the power of a Great One, he could take anything, he could not lose…

Likewise, she started to gain a misty crimson aura, abandoning her tricks and tools for raw power.

In the middle of this squaring up, she looked away, distracted by something as her blood magic faded. Liam took a shot at her in her moment of distraction, though she was able to dodge based on sound and evade him for what felt like the thousandth time. She looked around, more hurriedly, and then ran away.

"Come back here!" Liam yelled, ready to give pursuit as he watched her flee, his urge to take her overwhelming everything else.

The savior froze, a chill racing up his spine as an astronomical level of insight, enough to make his head numb even after carrying the twins for hours began to emerge. His every instinct told him to run as he shook uncontrollably, the full moon on the horizon turning black as a flame-like aura poured from the center outwards.

The entire cosmos seemed eclipsed by this single presence, a black form descending from the sky. Liam nearly blacked out, or at the very least had his fragile mind warped beyond saving as he looked at the beast and tried to find words to describe it.

It was insectoid, but at the same time vaguely reminiscent of a sea creature with skin like shark leather, a balded primate head filled with gnashing teeth, and several streaming bits of flesh. The body had a bloated abdomen separated from the thorax, the legs spindly and bald, though short, wiry blue hair could be seen here and there. It possessed four extra limbs on the front end, resembling a praying mantis and a centaur forming some unholy combination, and overall it defined any form of accurate description as it was too alien to be put to words.

The Great One, the twins themselves recognizing him and shuddering at his presence, unleashed a powerful roar, innumerable glowing red eyes appearing on his bald head as he breathed a torrent of violent light. Liam dodged the burning stream of energy as it pierced the dark, the Great One flying forward as his sheet-like wings unfurled. The Great One's boney, scythe-like hand tore up the ground, the edge glowing with the familiar arcane power as it swept for Liam. The savior was truly facing something only the Nightmare could produce, what destroyed the twins even at their full strength, and he felt it as he outmaneuvered the great one, his Blood Sabre seeming to barely slow it down as it skittered on its legs and crushed the land around him.

Liam didn't even know how to start, the numbing mist fading completely, but he still didn't feel anything as he was knocked around by the Great One.

Everything became a blur. Liam was getting exhausted, even with the Old Blood… he just didn't care anymore. The Great One reared back, his body being surrounded by clouds of violet, blue and white, numerous pinpricks of light appearing within as the air shook with arcane power.

Liam braced himself as the volley of beans shrieked through the air, decimating the countryside and sending him falling to the ground, covered with dirt and scorched grass. He drug himself up, his eyes glowing as his wheezy breath grew deeper and more furious, the Great One stomping towards him.

He started to run, pushing himself faster and faster as his sabre glowed more intensely. He didn't care.

He'd either kill the the beast or die trying. Nothing else mattered. He just wanted it to be over.

The next several minutes were a blur.

Liam's arm was crushed by a backhand and he was nearly trampled. The Great One howled as his leg and arm were sliced open, his blood feeding the twins strength. Liam braced himself against a charged strike, the twins cracking as he was driven back across the meadow. He dropped down from above, slicing the Great One's face open.

Through the chaos and the blinding spatters of blood, Liam was the victor, collapsing to his knees, more veins and dead flesh than alive as he watched the being fall to the ground dead. He was wheezing even harder, his body trembling with the immeasurable, inimaginable Echoes thundering through his veins.

He heard a sharp crack, and the blood rock of his gauntlets burst open in a spray of coagulated blood and brass, first one, than the other. Two massive shades spiralled through the air, the atmosphere chilling as they emerged, the runes going out as their spirits rose up. They were ready to return to the cosmos now, being avenged and having the blood to make the trip, Liam preparing his soul to be spirited away.

Only, it wasn't.

Liam's scarred face bent into a scowl, feeling his countless blood echoes being drained away. He looked down at his ruined, nearly skeletal arms and the hole in his chest. His skin was a sickly, indescribable shade of black that reeked like composting garbage on his chest and arms, his eyes bloodshot and blistered, one of them crying a stream of clear fluid. His organs were little more than scar tissue at this point, the veins of healing blood going dry and falling out of his body.

He glared up at the shades, bearing all the blood he reaped for them, watching them return to the sky.

"Come back here, do not leave me behind!" He screamed, his voice cracking as his rotted lungs filled with fluid, "You'd be nothing without me!" He cried again, his voice echoing through the woods.

They vanished, breaching the barrier between this world and Nightmare. Liam began to melt as he kneeled there on the ground, all his lifeforce leached from him, the Old Blood no longer there to sustain his destroyed body.

He realized then, as the rot started to burn away and turn to ash, his vision going dark, that he'd been dead for far longer than that.

Liam saw the boar witch in the treeline, the last witness to his acts as the savior turned to ashes.

* * *

 _What rage? A silhouette of midnight black,_

 _What sight? Pale eyes of brackish briar dead_

 _What knife? Side-sword of squirming bloody veins._

 _What breath? Wheezing rusted pipes of steel_

 _Despair, sailors of the icy shores, tis'_

 _the walking dirge of death, tis the waking_

 _Nightmare made, with steady stride_

 _And ashen skin. Spider reaper, daughter_

 _Slayer. Four bloody rings upon each arm._

 _Upon the shores of the Borrowing Cove,_

' _Pon All Hallows Eve when the moon lies full,_

 _Beware and take heed the vengeful ashes,_

 _Of the maid feeder who haunts the woodlands._

 _-Unknown Author, "The Maid Feeder"_


End file.
